The Stuff We're Made Of
by XxSilly LilyxX
Summary: Story of a Tauren who was in too deep and tried to break away... and other people he unfortunately associates with. Now with more humor! 3 out of 4 murlocs agree that this story is the mrrrrggglll! R&R plz, u won't regret it! And if u do... blame a murloc
1. The Lie

**A/N: **Writing exercise with some ideas I have swimming in my head. If people like it, I may turn it into a small side project while I continue Dreams of the Heart. Constructive criticism, as always, is encouraged and appreciated. Oh, and the troll isn't Darkspear, so I more or less made up her accent. That is all I will say about that. Also, if you enjoy any of my stories, feel free to check out my website in my profile dedicated to my WoW fanfic.

**Disclaimer: **World of Warcraft is property of Blizzard Entertainment and I do not own it in any form or fashion. The characters in this story are my own while the setting takes place in the world/universe of WoW.

* * *

**The Lie**

"You take care of it?"

A heavy breath seethed past his lips in a vaporous haze, leaving winding, wispy tails in the air. His words were miasma. With the thickness of the smoke wafting about the room as a listless cloud of white, Taja'ki could only just make out his face. But a smoldering orange which was evidently producing the endless veil of fog was at least clearly visible.

"Ja, Taji take care 'o it, donna' worreh."

The man was silent, another large puff of smoke leaving his lips instead. Parting the smoke, a hand with only three large digits reached out to her expectantly. Taja'ki needed no prompting from the two at either side of her to slowly relinquish the item had been holding in a fist at her side. Somehow, it didn't surprise her that he'd need proof.

The hand retreated back behind the evanescent brume, studying the tiny circlet stained with crimson splotches in silent scrutiny. Another large puff of smoke. The acridity of the smoke burned at Taja'ki's eyes, forcing a well of dampness to collect, but controlled enough to not let one tear escape.

"And?" the deep voice breathed once more, emptiness echoing in that one word. Taja'ki pulled her lips back into a grin, running a hand through her braids.

"Taji did it quick. Midd'a o' da' Barrens wher'a no'ra one fin' 'im. Joo wan' Taji shoul' go inna' details, ja?"

There was a soft snort of repulsion, accompanied with an expulsion of smoke. Taji was prodded in the shoulder by the figure at her side. She was being dismissed. The two similarly dressed figures escorted Taji down the hall, out of the smoggy room, and through the inconspicuous door leading out into the back alley. The door, cleverly disguised as part of the wall, clicked shut, and Taja'ki stretched, popping her back in various places, her posture relaxing visibly.

"We finished?"

A shadow detached itself from the inky backdrop, melding into a humanoid, corporeal form and penetrating the troll with two sun-like orbs.

"Ja. Lessa' go, 'eh? We still got stuff ta' do."

The dusky streets of Orgrimmar were desolate for the most part, which was to be expected with burly gorilla's posing as orc guards on every corner. Even exuding the slightest hint of suspicion during that time of night was enough probable cause to get one forcibly detained. If this were the least bit apparent to Taja'ki, she either failed to realize it or ignored it, walking with her same cocky strut and smug expression.

Shadowing behind her like some sinister doppelganger, the figure behind her fell in step alongside her, barely moving any of the muscles still left in his face as he addressed the troll in a grating hiss.

"You know he's going to kill you if he finds out."

Taja'ki's swagger remained uninterrupted. "Taji donna' know wha' joo be talkin' abou'."

A breathless sigh chided her before the man continued, "Did you think I wouldn't know? Rai'zen doesn't know you like I do. I thought I trained you better."

Only the labored rise and fall of heavy feet and the soft sashay of robes brushing along the well worn path muddled through the humid night air, until Taja'ki finally bared her long, pointed tusks at the Undead in a wry grin.

"Taji no'ra coul' eva' pull one ova' on Korot."

"And I could never teach you to overcome your impulsive tendencies," Korot replied testily, jamming his arms into the folds of his sleeves. "You're of more use to me alive than dead, and for that reason alone, I'd rather not see all my years of training you go to waste because "Taji" went soft."

Taji's amber eyes cut deeply into the man at her side from the very edge of her peripheral vision, her voice dipping low and losing it's characteristic roguish facetiousness.

"Lissen 'ere, deada'. Taji be many tings-" She again exposed her tusks fully for a wicked half grin. "Some goo' an' mos' me motha' woul' turn in 'er grave tah 'ear 'bout." The humor on her face dissipated. "Bu' know dis; Taji's skills an' her blade may be bought wit' a price… bu' her own sense 'a 'onor an' pride canna' not. Taji donna' betray no frien's, ya' tal'ley?"

Korot could not help a disbelieving head shake and a shadow of a smile. "You are quite the piece of work, Taji. I have never seen anyone embrace insanity with such remorseless vigor. You are truly something else."

With a boisterous chuckle, Taji grabbed her cape from behind, peering over the top of it and jutting her jaw in a noble, pompous fashion.

"Ja, Taji be sometin' else alrigh'. Taji really be da' 'ero in dis'guise. But joo donna' tell nobody, ja?"

The Forsaken continued to shake his head at the troll, the mirth in his smile not reaching his eyes. "Ja."

The spicy, sediment laden winds of Durotar greeted them briskly as the two exited the city, tiny pinpricks of sparkling dust perforating the darkened sky above.

"Wher'a we be 'eaded now ta' sell da' stuff, boss'a man?"

"Silvermoon City, of course."

"Silva'moon be Taji's favo'rit place, ja. S'in City."

Taji hefted an arm around Korot's almost nonexistent shoulders, peering into his impassive face with an impish grin.

"We fin' lossa' goo' lookin' woomans dere, ja?"

Kotor's shoulder's rose and fell in the tell tale signs of a sigh.

"Don't you ever think of anything else?"

The warrior winked cheekily, steering them toward the zeppelin that would take them to the Undercity, and then from there, just a summon away from the famed Sin'dorei City of decadence and debauchery.

"Ja, som'time, Taji tink abou' mens… bu' dat no'ra last long."

Taji felt his shoulders rise and fall.

"... On the way... let us discuss this impulsive tendency of yours... "

* * *

"Watch them... " 

Rai'zen pulled his lips back over his teeth for what could have been either a forced smile or a curved sneer. His words twined around his tusks like an airborne serpent, and he inhaled them deeply, cherishing the causticity.

"Watch them all..."


	2. The Encounter

**The Encounter**

A heavy sigh full of wandering dust and regret was forcibly expelled from dry and cracked lips.

"Damn... how can someone with only three fingers in a fist hit so hard?"

Even though his stare down with the overbearing sun caused his vision to splotch and distort, Dahj let his gaze linger until he was certain that he was indeed, alive. The chuckle that rumbled in his chest hurt, but it felt oddly relieving... and pained with an internal sorrow inexpressible by mere words.

"Stupid girl... " the tauren muttered in his own language, surprised at the ease at which he could conjure up the words, despite not having spoken it in so long. A sound from just behind where his head lay pricked at his ears. Footsteps. But more notably, the distinctive scraping gait of a pair of hooves. With a grunt of exertion, Dahj tilted his head back, straining his neck to see who exactly was approaching a full grown tauren male (albeit somewhat battered at the moment) with such unwavering confidence.

What he got was an eyeful of a rather curvaceous chest... before a face appeared. And for a moment, all Dahj could do was blink, in his awkward position, at the draenei staring back down at him. Then, he found his voice.

"Nice... horns," he mused with a twinkle in his eyes, Common rolling perfectly fluent from his lips.

Now the woman took to blinking in dumbfounded shock.

"You... speak Common?"

Dahj could feel the blood beginning to rush to his head, and was thankful when the woman carefully edged her way over to his side and crouched, still studying his face.

"What do you know? So I can. But a better question would be, Bluebelle, what are you doing in the middle of the Barrens talking to a Tauren in Common?"

The Draenei didn't respond at first. Instead, she reached out a hand, ignoring Dahj, who instinctively flinched, and rested it lightly on his chest. Through the thick leather of his shirt, he could not feel her touch, but was almost immediately enveloped by a sensation that was both chill inducing yet pleasantly warm. The tightness in his chest lifted, the dull ache of his ribs subsiding into nothing more than a distant memory.

"My name is not Bluebelle and I'd appreciate it if you did not address me as such. And as for your question, I only just happened upon you and did as any priestess should when she stumbles upon a wounded individual."

Dahj sat up as the woman removed her hand, and he absentmindedly rubbed at his snout where a nose ring used to be.

"And you're not afraid I'll, you know, attack you or something?"

His eyes darted towards the draenei, noting that the amount of space between him and her was relatively close.

"It is my duty as a priestess to do what I can to heal the wounded, among other things. Besides, I'm not exactly helpless, by any means."

"Huh," the tauren scoffed, attempting to shake off the debris that had burrowed into his fur and mane, "Well, Bluebelle, seems to me like you should either find a new philosophy or find another profession. That kind of thinking is liable to get you killed--"

He took a quick glance at his torn and bloodied clothes, shrugging nonchalantly. "--Or almost killed."

With that said, Dahj rose to his hooves, running a hand through his shaggy hair and rubbing the back of his neck.

"So... you going to get lost or what?"

The woman rose as well, brushing loose clay from her robes before meeting the tauren with an irritated frown.

"Is that always how you thank someone after they do you a favor out of the kindness of their heart?"

Dahj rotated his shoulders, trying to get the blood flowing smoothly into the numbed, stiff muscles.

"Usually. Although there was that one time I--"

He severed his sentence, leaving it unfinished as he glanced past the woman before him, who quirked an eyebrow curiously. An embarrassingly small squeak was all she could produce when, faster than she thought the large man capable, Dahj suddenly grabbed her by the wrists and forced her backwards until her back touched the face of an overlooking hill. The draenei's luminescent eyes seemed to glow with fervent intensity, her face deepening in hue by three or four shades as she fumed in raging indignation.

"How _dare _you--!"

Dahj didn't allow her to continue, quickly stifling her with a hand over her mouth and whispering tersely, "If you could cram a cork in your nag hole, that'd be just peachy."

The woman's almond shaped eyes widened into circles, witnessing the alarm evident in the tauren's stormy greys. Her protests died in her throat even before she heard the voices speaking in orcish and sounding uncomfortably close. Dahj flicked his eyes toward the voices becoming louder and louder, then back at the draenei. With an apologetic half smirk, Dahj repositioned his bulky frame so that only the draenei's hooves were visible from the side and, without a word of warning, took her lips as his own in a kiss.

Two orcs rounded the corner at that very moment, coming to a halt upon seeing the two hoofed "lovers" in mid kiss. Dahj parted from the impromptu kiss, shadowing the draenei's face by keeping his head lowered.

"Excuse me, but do you two mind? I'm already paying a small fortune for this one and I'd rather not make this a spectator event," he growled lowly in orcish with just a hint of aggravation.

The orcs grinned knowingly at each other, laughing rather boorishly before turning and rejoining another group of voices that wafted off from the distance. As soon as the voices could be heard no longer, Dahj took a step back, releasing a sigh from deep within his diaphragm.

"Peons. Love 'em like brothers but they're dumber than a sack of gnome shi—"

The sharp slap hurt a lot more than Dahj cared to admit. He rubbed at the now matted fur, addressing the woman dryly.

"Well that was special. What was that for?"

"You... You kissed me!" From the look on her face, Dahj appropriately labeled her not as "thankful" as he would have hoped, but rather somewhere around "pissed off".

"Well sorry, Bluebelle, next time I'll simply explain that I am guilty of fraternizing with an enemy of the Horde and let them tear us limb from limb. Sorry that my "let's save our asses" kiss didn't top being crushed into meat paste by orcs who step on kittens for kicks and giggles. Next time I'll use a little tongue."

The draenei opened her mouth for a scathing retort, but after a moment's thought, found herself blushing instead.

"No… I apologize. I shouldn't have just hit you like that," she murmured, folding her arms over her chest in hopes to hide her embarrassment. "Although a warning would have been nice…"

"Yeah, and it would have been nice if you hadn't eaten kimchi this morning. Stuff tastes like grass to me," the tauren replied with an effortless shrug, smacking his lips loudly.

The woman's hand twitched again, but this time, she caught herself and settled for glowering at him disapprovingly.

"They were looking for you, weren't they? Or rather, a dead body. There's no other reason for them to be so far out here."

Dahj pulled at his braided beard thoughtfully, looking off to their side at the endless, sun swept horizon.

"Are all of your kind this nosy and annoying or is it just females in general?"

The second slap hurt even more than the first.

"In any case," Dahj muttered, ignoring the lingering sting on his cheek, "You helped me and I helped you. We're even now, Bluebelle. So you can go. Shoo, shoo."

The woman peered at him silently for a breaths span, then replied, "Right. And how, exactly are you planning on forcing me to leave, should I choose to remain, _Fuzzball_?" In her scan of his person, she became aware that Dahj possessed nothing but the clothes on his back, and no weapons to speak of.

The tauren paused at this, scratching his chin. "By asking very nicely?"

Sighing wordlessly, but making no signs of movement, the priestess inquired, "You don't have a back up weapon or even a hidden weapon? I heard that Tauren were rather peaceful in nature, but this is ridiculous..."

"Well, I'm just not a violent guy, despite all this raw muscle and overbearing machismo you see before you. Plus, I never carry any weapons."

A delicately curved eyebrow was arched at this confession. "Why's that?"

"Apparently, I either enjoy head trauma and bleeding excessively... or it's a result of head trauma and bleeding excessively. And now, since I dare not risk suggesting that you to 'move it', lest I earn another enjoyable slap to the face, I'll leave instead. I'd say it's been nice chatting with you, Blue... but I haven't really been paying attention to anything you've said, so... yeah."

He turned his back to the woman, lifting a hand into the air for a brief goodbye, as if it were an afterthought, and began walking away. The sun soon reached it's noontime zenith, reigning over the sky and it's kingdom below in a diaphanous golden splendor and unmerciful heat. It was times like this that Dahj was grateful for his seemingly infinite supply of patience.

"You know, this now qualifies as stalking."

The huffy reply from behind him was full of angry consternation. "I'm doing nothing of the sort! You expect me to leave you weaponless, and without food or water in this heat? What kind of priestess do you take me for?"

He stole a glance over his shoulder at her, wearing a blank expression. "The kind that will let me release the aching bladder I've been holding for the past thirty minutes you've been following me."

The woman flushed purple involuntarily, stammering, "Oh… sorry."

Dahj sucked back a laugh begging to be released, steering off his course to disappear behind a mound of sheer rock. When he next appeared, he had turned his shirt inside out to at least hide the blood stains, although he could do little for the tears, smoothed down his wild hair and patted down his visible fur.

"I was kidding about the pee thing. It was definitely worth seeing your reaction though. But you can really stop fussing over me like a mother hen. You don't expect to walk me all the way to the city gates with a draenei escorting me like I've been a bad boy, do you?"

"Of course not, but you're headed in the opposite direction of civilization."

Dahj balked, but then allowed a small smile to span out across his face. "… Aren't you Little Miss Observant."

"Well, at least you're not calling me Bluebelle..." the priestess mumbled, swinging her pack from her shoulders and searching inside. Retrieving a leather skin, she offered it to the tauren.

Dahj accepted the proffered object, unscrewing the cork and peering suspiciously at the liquid swirling inside. "This isn't some kind of gnomish concoction is it? I don't trust anything made by beings that tend to blow themselves up into smithereens."

"... It's just water."

Dahj gave the container another distrusting look before tilting his head back and beginning to drain the contents with vigor. The woman took the stand still moment to inspect the missing patches of fur appearing every so often on the visible limbs of Dahj's body, noting the healed over scar tissue particularly.

"What's the deal with all the scars? I thought you didn't carry weapons on you?" she asked off handedly, giving him a sidelong glance.

Dahj lowered the water skin from his lips, nodding, and replenishing his lungs with the oxygen he had deprived them of in his eager thirst quenching. "And that's exactly _why _I have these scars."

A brief silence befell them, a humid breeze whispering indecipherable secrets softly in their ears.

Finally, the priestess could hold it in no longer. "Why were those orcs looking for you? Who exactly left you for dead? Why aren't you returning to a city? Why can you speak Common so well?"

The tauren slowly twisted the top back on the container. "You ask a lot of questions, you know."

He outstretched his hand, holding the skin out to her. However, when she reached to take it from him, he held tight, and their eyes met.

"It's not a healthy habit."

Dahj released the container. "And haven't you heard that men don't like women who ask too many questions? A woman can go from beautiful vixen to annoying ugmo in three seconds flat from questions like that."

The priestess frowned, snapping her pack shut and slipping it over one shoulder. "So... you're calling me a 'beautiful vixen' now?"

Dahj turned his head to the side, partially to hide a wandering smile and partially to move his face from slapping range. "I might have three seconds ago."

The woman shot poison tipped, serrated daggers from her eyes, which sliced coldly into the tauren. In a cool, detached tone, she asked, "So what do you plan on doing now? Don't you have somewhere to go? I'd rather not have to baby-sit you all day."

"I was planning on sorta'... you know. Roughing it a bit."

"So you're going to wander around weaponless without food and water in the middle of no where?"

"Well when you say it out loud like that it sounds stupid, not manly and rugged like I was aiming."

The draenei sighed, rolling her eyes skyward in a silent plea to the heavens.

"Although... I may know a place," Dahj added, suddenly sounding distant and whimsical. Noting the odd look the priestess was regarding him with, he snapped out of his daydream, returning the look.

"What's your name, anyway? No promises I won't still call you Bluebelle, but I figure you might as well tell me since I can't seem to get rid of you."

She smiled back at the tauren, answering mockingly, "You ask a lot of questions, you know. It's not a healthy habit."

The smile was returned, albeit it wasn't one necessarily formed completely from mirth. "Yeah, but I apparently like things that aren't good for me..." he stated in a placid manner.

The priestess's eyes roamed his face for a few seconds, but, unable to find what she seemed to be searching for, said, "I'm Kishka. And you are?"

"Mirdahj. But call me Dahj. Oh, and got anything in your pack that's not kimchi? Now every time I think about that nasty stuff I think about your lips and it makes me want to vomi--"

Of course, he expected the ensuing slap that followed, but made no effort to dodge or stay the woman's hand. He took the slap full in the face, like a man.

"Next time you get the urge to do that, can you at least slip a slice of bread between your hand and my face, please?"

Muttering darkly in her own language, Kishka reopened her pack and produced a crusty husk of bread, shoving it towards the tauren rather violently.

"Thanks," Dahj said, tearing off a huge chunk of the pastry and chewing it with relish, "Now you're slightly less annoying."

Kishka managed to both frown and glare at the same time, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Don't you have a civil tongue in that thick head of yours?"

Dahj grinned cheekily in mid-bite. "Well, I suppose you could say that you actually had a small bit of this 'uncivil' tongue in your--"

Dahj was sure there would be a permanent hand print left in the fur of his cheek by the end of the day. He started chewing a bit slower, wincing at the throbbing the act was eliciting.

"Ever get that stinging feeling in your cheeks... that it's just gonna' be one of those days?"


	3. The Unspoken

**The Unspoken**

"'ello, beu'tiful."

Taja'ki propped a foot on the stool before her, flashing her tusks in a coy grin.

The blood elf's eyes ascended from her drink and she regarded the troll with befuddled confusion, apparently taken aback.

"E-Excuse me?"

Collapsing into the seat, the troll warrior pounded a fist on the bar twice, signaling the bartender. He took a look at her sharply before recognition settled in and he began to prepare her unspoken order. Taji twisted in her chair, facing the woman again.

"C'in Taji ask joo a ques'ion, ja?"

The woman hesitated, seeming to try to decipher the troll's motives and odd behavior. Taja'ki decided it was taking the Sin'dorei too long to respond and took the liberty of asking anyway.

"Joo gotta' boyfrien', ja?"

The woman's rosy complexion darkened by a few hues either in embarrassment, indignation or anger, or maybe even a combination of the three.

"Pardon me?"

Taja'ki ran a hand through her braids, giving the woman a coquettish wink. "If joo no'ra got no boyfrien', den joo tink Taji sexy, ja?"

All emotion was wiped completely from the woman's face. Instead of addressing the troll, she spun in her seat, speaking to the man next to her.

"Is this... _thing _trying to hit on me?"

Korot shrugged, taking another long draught from his flagon of stout, downing it as if it were water.

"Seems to be that way. I would be wary if I were you. She's prone to biting."

Taji laughed a little too loud for the woman's comfort, the corners of her mouth curling slyly.

"'ey, Taji no'ra bite no mo'! Bu', she do nibble some, ja."

With this said, she again winked at the blood elf, who promptly lost all color in her face. "Who is responsible for letting you lose in _our _city? I was not aware that your kind was allowed entrance past the gates without a proper leash."

The woman flipped her hair, smiling venomously in the troll's face. Expression remaining unchanged, Taji brought the frothy mug that had been set before her closer, but did not lift it, chuckling a little too amicably for one who had just been insulted.

"Dey lost Taji's leash long time ago. Bu', if Taji fin' it, she give it to joo so joo c'in take Taji's 'eart wher'a eva' joo go."

The woman arched an eyebrow, perturbed yet unwilling to let the troll know. "I knew I left something at home this morning..." Korot muttered under his breath, shaking his head at the troll's antics.

Taja'ki ignored this comment and instead, reached behind her, slipping something into the woman's hand before she could protest. A single peacebloom stalk, recently picked, had been placed in the blood elf's hand. She blinked at it, unable to form her thoughts into coherent words.

"A flowa' fo' a flowa'," Taji stated softly, lifting her mug to her lips and taking a tentative sip.

"I can't believe you're still at it. The fair hand of any Sin'dorei woman is and shall always be beyond your lecherous reach. Two toed boars should not leave their mud pits to seek mates; Durotar is infested with tusked swine. Go take your courting there, where it belongs."

Taja'ki didn't have to turn in her seat; she recognized the voice without even seeing the face.

"Donna' worreh, Vyse. Taji know she only fin' joo motha' ou' dere. Taji thought she was de only one ta' mistake joo motha' fo' a dirty pig. Joo kinda' take afta' 'er. When joo get stuck, joo squeal jus' li' 'er, ja?"

The warrior drank deeply from her mug, her eyes slowly focusing on the blood elf that slid up to the bar, standing beside her.

"What are you two doing in _my _territory?" Vyse hissed under his breath, although his lips remained still.

"Since when is this _your _territory?" Korot's eyeless gaze remained fixated on the murky liquid in his mug. "We are free to go where we please."

"Wh... where does your liquor go?"

Korot sighed, although no breath escaped, not even obliging the other blood elf with a look.

"You know, Cindral, just because an asinine thought surfaces from that cloud of stupidity between your ears does not mean that it is necessary to let it escape as deification of the mouth. You appear a lot smarter when you're quiet, which is saying a lot. You're the only elf I know who's mental enough to have mana tapped his own brain into oblivion."

Vyse leveled a look at Korot before turning back to Taja'ki, saying lowly, "A Scourge puppet and a two toed sow are not welcome in my city. Corpses and animals are kept outside the gates for a reason; to keep the foul odors from polluting the city and to preserve the city's beauty. I consider this an insult. You dare come spit in my face by entering my city like two pieces of excrement in a sea of diamonds? Let me return the favor."

He paused to lean forward, looking Taja'ki straight in the eye, and spit directly into the mug in her hand, sloshing some of the liquid onto her hand. Without batting an eye, Vyse leaned back and spat a globule of saliva into Korot's mug as well. A rather odd, high pitched laughter spilled from Cindral who nudged Korot with an elbow, clinking his "Mug 'O Hurt" with the Forsaken's mug, then jeering with a wicked grin, "Cheers."

Taja'ki stood so fast that both her mug and stool toppled over, garnering wary glances from other tavern patrons.

"You have something to say, little boar?" Vyse purred, his face twisted in dark humor.

"Taja'ki."

Korot did not remove his eyes from his mug, nor did he say any more to the livid troll. He didn't have to. Grinding teeth against teeth, Taji slowly knelt to pick up her stool and set it upright once more, not trusting herself to lift her gaze to Vyse, lest she try to gouge his eyes out with the most unpleasant item she could reach.

The forsaken priest finally turned his gaze from his drink, plucking the mug from the counter top and holding it out near Cindral. His goldspun eyes leveled with the rogue's, and a hint of a smile graced his features.

"Cheers."

Korot lifted the mug to his mouth, and, tipping it back, drank the last remnants without a flinch. Cindral was left blinking uneasily, immediately looking to Vyse, who merely studied the forsaken with smoldering eyes. Rising from his seat, Korot gestured to Taja'ki, who was literally trembling in barely contained rage.

"Let's go, Taja'ki."

The warrior slipped in step behind him without a word, her fists clenched tightly by her side.

"Try not to murder, cannibalize or drink the blood of the innocents of your kind on the way out, hm?" Vyse said dryly, flicking one of Taja'ki's tusks as she passed by. And that was all it took. A pair of crimson stained brass knuckles slipped over her fingers in one fluid motion, whipping herself around to face Vyse with an enraged snarl.

"Taji c'in see joo elfses be red, bu' Taji wonda' wha' color joor blood be. Taji c'in be kinda' slow, so it's gonna' take a lot 'a blood fo' Taji to be sur'a wha' color it is!"

To touch a troll's tusks without permission was about as insulting to a troll as one could get. Taja'ki especially took pride in her tusks, and for someone like Vyse to even look at them too hard was enough to make her blood boil like a lava pit of rage. However, Vyse knew this well and had been counting on this the entire time.

Shadows and light contorted behind the warrior as she lunged forward, only to be held back as something snake-like and black wound its way around her upraised arm, holding her fist in place. Taja'ki growled and turned about, thinking it to be Cindral, but rather, was met with horns, wings and two deep set aquamarine eyes that glowed with the purest blue only wrought from the depths of the Twisting Nether itself.

The warrior's reaction was immediate, laughing from the pit of her diaphragm.

"Wher'a joo been all Taji's life, 'eh, beu'tiful?," Taji said with a wink, unwinding the whip from her arm and letting it coil loosely on the ground. To her surprise and amusement, the succubus winked back, giving her an amorous look.

"Taja'ki, leave the succubus be before you wind up way over your head," Korot urged, pausing at the door. He then got a better view of how the succubus was looking at Taja'ki. "Or over her head."

Letting her previous anger dissolve, Taji slipped her brass knuckles off, concealing them once more. Vyse spat on the ground, barely missing Cindral who appeared at his side as the two blocked the troll's way.

"I thought you wanted to find out what color my blood was, boar," Vyse asked as the warrior faced the two obstructing her exit.

Taja'ki shrugged. "Taji already know. It be black."

She barged her way between the two men, wondering what possessed the two tiny elves to think that she would be intimidated by their frail, muscle-less bodies blocking her way. For just a split second, Taja'ki grasped Vyse's shoulder firmly, but only enough to cause discomfort, not pain.

"If joo wan'ed ta' swap spit so bad, joo shoulda' jus' asked. Next time we meet, if joo bring joo 'wooman' ova' dere, maybe Taji'll rock joor world an' show joo 'ow to be a real man, ja? Until den, try an' grow some tusks, eh?"

She pushed away and strolled out the tavern before Vyse could properly reply. The warlock started after her, but Cindral held him back, placing a hand on his arm. Vyse jerked his arm away, preparing a heated reply, but it died on his lips upon seeing the rogue's face.

The warlock sighed rather nervously, any of his previous arrogance conveniently absent, and murmured, "All right, Cin... let's go get you your stuff."

The pair exited quickly through the door opposite of the one Korot and Taja'ki took, not looking back.

* * *

"You shouldn't let him goad you into stuff like that," Korot grumbled, jamming his hands into his sleeves. "One, it's not good for business and two, we could get in considerable trouble from picking fights with our allies. And by we, I mean you. I'm beginning to feel like that whole talk about impulsiveness on the way here fell on deaf ears..."

Taji's saunter slowed, her rust colored eyes roaming over the forsaken's face carefully, seeming to search for something unseen. The priest noticed, frowning even harder in response.

"What?"

The troll blinked, then resigned with a shrug, stating, "Not'in. Jus' dat... If some'un be insultin' joo, den Taji tink joo shoul' at leas' say sometin'."

Korot snorted loudly, his moldy strands of hair waving slightly as an Arcane Guardian passed by him.

"I don't recall myself being insulted by that fool's words. Fool's like to hear themselves talk, and there is not a bigger wind bag in all of Silvermoon than Mister Vyse himself." His gaze wandered over to the warrior curiously. "What makes you think I was insulted?"

In a rare moment, Taja'ki paused to think before she opened her mouth. Although Korot may not have been aware of it, she had seen the expression on his face when Vyse had called him a corpse. Being that his features were rather flat and hard to make out anyway, she couldn't accurately label what particular emotion it was... but it had been enough to pull at something in her heart and warrant further inquiry. However, it seemed the perpetually stoic priest would rather deny the sudden facial anomaly had occurred.

"Ah, no'tin. Jus' Taji bein' impulsive ag'in, ja."

Korot nodded after a moment, coming to a stop as they neared the Court. "In any case, I have business I need to conduct elsewhere. Can I trust you to refrain yourself from choking Vyse with his own ears?"

"Taji no'ra make any promises, bu' she try. Fo' Korot." Nothing in her voice changed, but her eyes seemed to cool, seeming unable to find the forsaken's. They both knew where he was going. Korot turned to head toward the Sunfury Spire, but hesitated, much to Taja'ki's surprise.

"Taja'ki?" His voice was low, rougher and grittier than normal.

The troll tilted her head slightly, fixated on the man's inky silhouette. "Ja?"

"That 'a flower for a flower' line... needs work."

And then he walked away. Taji wanted to say a lot of things, but found herself rooted, only able to stare blankly at the hunched man's back. It felt as if an entire unspoken conversation had transpired between them and Taja'ki had gotten the short end.

"Umm... excuse me?" A woman's voice called out, unsure. The troll surfaced from her overflow of thoughts, turning to the voice. The woman held a peacebloom and a tiny square no bigger than a gold piece. From where she was standing, the warrior could see that the crystalline powder that she had concealed in the square was no longer there, the paper-like material deflated and empty. Taja'ki hid a smile. Korot had told her it sometimes scared the newer customers.

"'ello again, beu'tiful."


	4. The Bargain

**The Bargain **

The room was almost pitch-black. With the heavy curtains drawn to shun the pale midnight sun, the only source of light emanated from a meager candle upon the table. As he entered the room, Korot's eyes became pools of gold, glowing like coveted gems from a dragon's hoard.

"You're late."

He found her near the window, though she was not looking out from it, her back the only part of her facing him. The priest did not reply immediately, rather took a moment to slide a chair out from the table and seat himself.

"My apologies," he began in gruff Common which sounded forced and mangled but intelligible. "My acquaintance and I became engaged in a small altercation which was unavoidable, but we managed to leave without an exchange of blows, thankfully."

The woman did not move from her spot leaning against the window frame, but nodded slightly in acknowledgment. The priest set his staff in the chair beside him, noting for umpteenth time at how stark and gloomy the room was.

"Care to make a trip downstairs and have a drink? Booty Bay might be a hub for questionable business and shady enterprises, but the alcohol is cheap and plentiful," he suggested mildly, untying his cloak and draping it on the back of his chair.

He looked up as Evamarín abandoned the window with the soft flutter of her dress, slipping into the seat directly across from him. Her face mirrored his own, an emotionless mask, and she regarded him expectantly with unfathomable blue eyes.

"Where is it?"

Her voice was barely a hiss seeping with urgent anxiety. Korot's hands disappeared inside the sleeves of his robe, reemerging with five small, white squares of paper which he set on the table and slid toward Evamarín.

With slim and dainty hands, the human lined the squares before her on the tabletop, plucking one from the group.

"This is less than you brought last time."

Korot leaned back into his seat, his eyes never once straying from the woman's face.

"It was all I could manage to spare from my own supply. If I had asked Taja'ki for some of hers, it might have looked suspicious."

Evamarín sighed, stacking the four packets on the table on top of one another. "You really are useless sometimes..."

Lifting the packet in her hand to eye level, she carefully opened the tightly pressed corners, peeling them back almost lovingly and revealing a fine blue powder.

"But... I suppose this will do for the time being."

The woman's words appeared to have some effect on the forsaken, for he shifted in his chair, the more defined features still left on his ashen face creasing slightly. Folding the square in half, Evamarín sifted a straight line of the azure crystals down the underside of her forearm, starting at the wrist. The reaction was instantaneous. Upon contact with her skin, the line of powder began to glow and pulsate, sinking into her arm until not a trace was left upon the surface.

Evamarín sat rigid in her seat as a jolt jerked her body straight as a board. A million tiny flecks of blue, glowing brilliantly and visible through the human's skin, could be seen amassing and traveling up the veins of her arm and dispersing into the rest of her body like a shower of stars streaking across the heavens.

Her eyes had shut without her knowing, a sigh of pleasure the only sound she made. The illuminant display did not last long, her skin losing its transparency and fading to normal after roughly a minute. However, when she her eyes finally fluttered open, that phosphorescent blue remained, giving the human an oddly divine countenance. If Korot had any breath passing through his lungs, it would have caught in his throat.

Her smile was empyreal, stirring something inside of him that he fought fervently to disregard. Evamarín was staring past Korot, of this he was sure, otherwise, she wouldn't have had such a blissful expression softening her graceful features. Boldly, he leaned forward and reached out with a hand, caressing the woman's flawless cheek and letting his fingers twine in her hair, wondering if her black silk curls felt as luxuriously soft as they looked. Evamarín blinked, her trance broken. The smile faded from sight and she took hold of Korot's hand, lowering it to the table.

"Almost forgot... your part of the bargain..."

Letting her eerily illuminant eyes linger for a moment longer, she then stood and glided over to Korot, standing behind his chair.

"Next time, try and bring more, hm?" she slurred in a husky whisper, running her hands down the front of his robe and stopping at the valley between the first and second rib.

"As humans, we're prone to err and disappoint," Evamarín continued, putting the slightest emphasis on the word "human".

"But it would be wise not to disappoint me too many times. Sometimes, the truth hurts even more than disappointment... Is this not correct, Torok?"

The man stiffened at the sound of his real name, having remained impassive until that moment. It was common practice for forsaken to either change their names upon awakening or even more commonly, make an anagram from their original name. But how long had it been since he had heard his own name uttered so warmly?

"I will do my best next time, Eva," he found himself muttering lowly, his eyes seeming dim in comparison to the dazzling brilliance of the woman's hooded gaze leering over him.  
"You have my word."

Her words came sugared and honeyed, forming that artificial syrup that flooded Korot's senses as he became addicted and yearned for more.

"Good," she was telling him, "I expect nothing less from you, Torok..."

She never did, but this thought escaped Korot as he twisted in his seat. Two gold suns rushed to meet two blue moons, stopping mere inches away, and two bone bare fingers extinguished the tiny candle flame, shunning the condemning light and welcoming the oblivion of darkness.


	5. The Hoax

**The Hoax**

She dragged her tongue along the craggy canopy of her mouth; no matter how many times she repeated this act, its taste lingered on, imprinting its presence on her acquiescent taste buds. That dry Tanaris air always left her with a pervasive aftertaste that coated the tongue and stuck to the back of the throat like a spoonful of peppery spices.

Lira hated it.

The air was thick and heavy, almost weighing down her soul with its density. This made her armor cramped and sticky, staining her cheeks scarlet from the heat. Surreptitiously, she stole a sidelong glance at Leyos. He was fresh, unfazed, untouched by Tanaris' harsh welcome. His gait was something to admire, smooth and paced with a subtle feline grace. He paid no heed as roaming sand twirled playfully about the hem of his robes before climbing to burrow into his cascade of aquamarine hair.

Realizing her staring was quite obvious, she averted her gaze and let out a dusty sigh. Without warning, Leyo's hand darted out, grabbing a handful of a sediment-laden breeze. He inhaled, down to his diaphragm, before relaxing his hand and releasing the sandy whisper back into the capricious wind.

"They are close by. We will wait here," he murmured, anchoring his walking staff into the yielding dirt.

Lira slowed with the protesting groan of plate and squeal of metal. Her fluorescent gaze swept across the barren horizon, seeing nothing, but there was no doubt in her mind that Leyos' words were anything but true. However, that was not what concerned her. Her tongue flicked across her lips and she cleared her throat softly.

"Pardon my disrespect..." She faltered momentarily, requiring a deep breath before she could continue on. "But it is my understanding that Goblins are very unforgiving when it comes to business... Might I humbly suggest that we continue on to the agreed upon rendezvous point?"

Her ears picked up the all too familiar whizzing of his cane long before she saw it streak through the air, yet she made no attempt to avoid the blow. The only indication of pain Lira displayed was a reflexive wince, nothing more. She didn't even bother to wipe the blood sluicing down the side of her face.

"It seems the heat has dulled your mind and caused you to forget your place. You know well and good that you are not at liberty to speak freely. You speak only when spoken to or after you have begged for my permission and I so find it in my gracious nature to give audience to your prattle," Leyos growled, annoyance displayed prominently on his face. "It would do you well to remember yourself; next time I will not be so forgiving."

Wisely, Lira said nothing but dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment. Leyos' gold-misted eyes regarded her with revulsion, contempt, as he spat, indicating to her wound, "Clean yourself up."

The paladin quickly removed a gauntlet and wiped at the dried blood with the back of her hand. This only caused Leyos' scowl to deepen. Reaching into the folds of his robes, he retrieved a carefully folded handkerchief and tossed it at Lira, muttering, "Just like a damn savage... use a handkerchief for Cenarius' sake."

Lira caught the cloth before it could be taken by the wind. She hesitated for a breath's span, but did as she was instructed. When she finished, there was a moment of awkwardness, not knowing what to do with the handkerchief next. Leyos' seemed to notice her silent dilemma.

"Keep it. It's tainted now."

Spotting four silhouettes in the distance, the druid turned from her and spoke no more. Uncertain of what to do, Lira folded the handkerchief into a delicate square and placed it snugly into her breastplate. Her eyes fell upon the contours of Leyos' back, that familiar outline tattooed into her retinas so distinctly. Albeit for different reasons, the two elves waited in silence for the Goblins approach.

* * *

"This is not where we agreed to meet," the first Goblin pointed out upon their arrival, forgoing any formalities to voice his disapproval.

"We don't like surprises or those who take it upon themselves to make unnecessary changes without fair warning," another added, furrowing his brows into a "V".

Leyos offered a shallow bow, speaking with a detached formality. "My apologies, gentlemen." He gestured to Lira, continuing, "My dimwitted associate here convinced me that it might please you if we were to move our rendezvous location closer so as to lessen your journey. I shall see that her disrespect receives a suitable punishment."

This seemed to quell the Goblin's temper somewhat, and they all glared at the Sin'Dorei with unveiled vexation. Lira did not cower under their stares, but lowered her head apologetically. Leyos merely shook his head at her "ignorance".

"More to the point," the Goblin known as Flitch began, beady eyes assessing Leyos closely, "Where's Dahj? This is normally his gig; he's an admirable haggler and negotiator. Better than some Goblins I know even."

Leyos straightened to his full height, squaring his shoulders. "Unfortunately, Mirdahj has been assigned to another location. I am to be his replacement from now on. I am Leyos; Rai'zen kindly asks that you receive me in good grace and he hopes that you will continue to expect the same quality of service as before."

A low murmur bubbled from the Goblins until Flitch spoke up once again. "I suppose we ain't gotta' choice. So what's this new stuff Rai'zen mentioned?"

Lira took this as her cue, lowering the haversack from her shoulder and holding it open to the druid.

"I have also brought some Blue Paradise just in case," he began, smoothly, "But Rai'zen was certain that you would be interested in our newest product."

He reached into the bag and pulled out a phial no larger than his pinky, holding it out so the Goblins could get a good look at it. The glass container was filled with a murky, red fluid.

"This--" Leyos stated, presenting the phial to Flitch. "--is Red Euphoria; Euphoria for short."

With a scrutinizing eye, Flitch examined the phial. "We'll need to test this first and take note of its effects first hand, of course."

The Kal'dorei nodded, urging him to do so with a curt nod. "Be my guest. Place one drop into each eye."

Flitch passed the concoction to the Goblin beside him. The Goblin uncorked the container, putting a drop onto one finger before tilting his head back and letting it drip into his eye. He did the same to the other. Keeping a respectable silence, the others watched and waited.

The effects were almost instantaneous; his eyes twitching and quivering ever so visibly. His pupils dilated unnaturally, quickly enveloping everything, iris and all. The end of eternity reflected in his gaze, his eyes nothing more than an unfathomable abyss of black nothingness. His sigh was staggered, heady, as he continued to stare into a realm beyond pleasure.

After a few moments, his pupils returned to their normal size, however, his irises were no longer dusky hazel. The were blue. Then, they were violet. Then one was green and the other was yellow. And with every blink, his eyes continued with this chromatic display of colors, each time the irises matched in hue eliciting a contented sigh.

Flitch nodded slowly in approval, nose twitching excitedly. "Seems legit. The effects seem more stable and more potent than with Paradise. It'll practically sell itself. How much of that stuff can ya' start us out with?"

At this, Leyos' features stretched into an empty smile which clung to his face like an awkwardly placed mask, the result of frequently facilitating questionable business.

"Take as much as you please."

Flitch rubbed his hands together eagerly, an avaricious light flickering about his eyes. Lira had just lowered the haversack toward the Goblin when a strained, guttural moan put their transaction on hold. All eyes regarded the Goblin who had volunteered to test the drug, confusion splayed across the spectators faces. The Goblin was clutching his abdomen, doubled over and shivering uncontrollably.

"I- I think I gotta'... gotta'..." he grunted, but left his sentence unfinished, tripping over himself as he scrambled behind a scruff of vegetation. The sounds emitted just beyond the foliage were familiar in a way no one wanted to admit out loud. Fortunately for them, they were standing downwind.

Flitch flinched, visage scrunched up in disgust. He turned to Leyos and Lira accusingly, his wide nostrils flaring in anger.

"What kind of hoax is this?! You think _that_--"

He paused as his associate let out a lamenting groan followed by a chorus of flatulence.

"--is _funny_?!"

Leyos could not veil his bewilderment, but tried his best to assuage the ired Goblin and his acquaintances. While the Kal'dorei was a good actor, his diplomacy skills were deplorable, seeming at a loss in his attempts to smooth over the situation. Goblins had horribly volatile tempers when seemingly scammed or cheated, and Flitch was no exception, berating Leyos' incompetence with the flailing of his arms and hands.

That is until Lira stepped between the two, narrowing her eyes with subtle warning.

"You know as well as us that this drug is new, therefore, bound to have a few unforeseen complications. You and Rai'zen have done business for some time now; is this how you treat a valued and long standing partner? We apologize for any discomfort we may have caused your associate, but rest assured, this was unintentional.

"You have our word that we will remedy the problem as soon as possible and compensate you for the trouble. You yourself said that the drug would sell itself; all you have to do sacrifice a little bit of patience. Do not tell me that you shrewd businessmen are so impatient as to let such a thing cause you to walk away from the financial investment of a lifetime."

Flitch gave pause in mid-rant, musing over her words, though his gaze was fraught with errant distrust.

"Think about it," Lira added, seeing him teetering on the fence of indecision. "Rai'zen didn't get to be the wealthy man he is today by taking offense to every little mishap. If you don't take him up on this offer, there are plenty of others within Rai'zen's influence who would jump at the chance. Do not get so cocky as to think you are the only Goblins vying for Rai'zen's grace and merchandise."

The paladin's voice lowered, speaking with an edge so keen it sliced clean through Flitch's indignant resolve.

"It would do you well to remember yourself."

The Goblin chewed on his lip, running a hand through his greasy hair. Finally, he snorted loudly as if fed up, but would not meet the Sin'Dorei's eyes.

"I expect full compensation, elf. Don't forget."

He turned, motioning for his comrades to follow suit. However, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to get in the last word:

"This kinda' feck wouldn't have happened if Dahj were here..."

Then, taking their "sick" friend with them, they departed without another word, which was just fine with Lira. Sometimes Goblins just needed a good kick in the pants and a harsh reminder to keep them in line. But instead of any congratulatory sighs of relief, Lira immediately tried to make amends for her bold performance.

"I'm sorry, he was getting belligerent and I--"

Leyos silenced her by raising a hand. "Save it. We don't have time to listen to your excuses; just be lucky those money hungry locusts don't have half a brain between them. Regardless, we have to inform Rai'zen quickly."

Pausing, the druid rubbed the stump of his left arm absentmindedly.

"Rai'zen... will not be pleased. Nether damn that Dahj. Even in death he's a nuisance."

Lira didn't reply, but it was assumed Leyos was speaking more to himself than anyone else. He let the silence linger as his hand disappeared into his robes, revealing a handful of mana crystals. Casually, he tossed them at Lira's feet followed by a globule of saliva.

"Those should sustain you long after we have met with Rai'zen. Don't embarrass me in front of him with your detestable addiction."

Kicking up a clod of dirt, Leyos began to head towards civilization, not even favoring the paladin with a backwards glance. Without a word of protest, without any feelings of rancor, Lira picked up the crystals one by one wearing a mask with no expression. She only hesitated for a second, staring down at the mana crystals cradled in her gloves. Then she too was kicking up loose dirt into the wind, struggling to keep pace with Leyos' shadow.


	6. The Promise

**The Promise**

"I cannot believe that happened..."

The sultry Durotar sun enticed obliging droplets of sweat to emerge from the saturated wells of Vyse's pores, bedecking the Sin'dorei with a circlet of sticky, translucent beads. Had he not been in a maddened rage, he might have delicately dabbed at the perspiration dampening his flushed complexion, explaining that "Sin'dorei didn't sweat, they merely glistened" but this was not the case. It was more than the asphyxiating heat that moistened his skin.

"I _cannot_ believe that happened," he repeated, almost incredulous in spite of his ire. "Right there, without warning… just relieved himself! Like an ill-trained mutt! And the smell! It still pervades my nostrils…"

He held his handkerchief closer to his nose, nearly smothering himself in the sweet aroma of peacebloom and mageroyal.

"And we still have to inform Rai'zen of this matter..." he muttered darkly, sniffing curtly in apprehension.

Cindral, walking at a pace that kept him a few feet behind Vyse, replied offhandedly, "Yeah..."

Hardly paying the comment any mind, Vyse continued in his heat-induced tirade. "If that bastard son of a Centaur whore Dahj were still alive, I'd take him out to the barn and do him in myself."

"... yeah..."

"I thought those orcs were going to hang us by our ears, gut us and defecate on our corpses..."

"... yeah..."

This time, Cindral's blasé response was not merely shrugged off. The anger harbored in his tone and expression smoldered, adopting a calmer, concerned countenance.

"You're not as talkative as you typically are. That's unlike you, Cin."

The rogue said nothing, his face unreadable, impassive.

Vyse persisted, shortening his strides to match Cindral's languished pace, his voice lowering so the conversation did not stray to unwanted listeners. "Hey, we managed to get enough mana crystals in you without over doing it. You're fine."

The other blood elf gave an odd sort of snort, his gaze drifting to Vyse for the first time since the conversation began.

"Yeah... Fine. Just like Emorell was fine."

Vyse's breath hitched sharply and his hands clenched into fists involuntarily. He suddenly found it hard to swallow the muggy, stagnant air, making it practically impossible to breath in a steady rhythm.

"We did all we could for Emorell," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It progressed too fast... we didn't catch it in time."

Here, he paused, meeting the rogue's fel-green eyes. "You will not suffer the same fate, Cindral."

Shaking his head slowly, Cindral's stoic mask split into a melancholic smile cradling the silent surrender on his lips.

"You're right, Vyserian. Given my condition now... I should most likely suffer a fate ten times as cruel."

It was this statement that made Vyse's soul quake and his chest compress into a Gordian knot. He could take no more. His hand shot out, grasping Cin by the shoulder and steered him into a side alley. The rogue didn't even flinch as the warlock slammed him into the wall, embedding his fingers into the flesh of his shoulder.

"I won't let what happened to brother happen to you!" Vyse hissed, desperate or angry, even he didn't know which. "Our brother--"

He choked, but composed himself, plowing forward.

"Our brother could not be helped in time. You, however, are fighting. We're fighting this together. As long as we stay on Rai'zen's good side, we'll always have enough money to make sure you get whatever you need."

Vyse loosened his grip, but gave Cin a rough shake, trying to snap some sense into him.

"Just... just believe in me for a little longer. You're going to be fine, I swear by the sun, Cindral. Just don't give up hope when I'm doing everything in my power to help you!"

Only Vyse's heavy panting pervaded the sanctity of the silence hovering between the two brothers. Finally, Cindral gently brushed Vyse's hand from his shoulder, but his eyes failed to meet the warlock's.

"When I become a Wretched... Don't let the Guardians get a hold of me. Make certain that it's _your_ blade that ends my life, not theirs."

Trembling, Vyse felt his right hand form into a tight fist, and without his consent, launch itself at Cin. His fist smashed into the wall just an inch to the left of Cindral's face, sending a chain reaction of pain down the length of his arm. He began to grind his raw and bleeding knuckles into the brick, oblivious to the layers of skin he continued to scrape away.

"Damn you, Cindral," Vyse managed to seethe through gritted teeth. "Damn you to the Nether and beyond."

This is about the time Vyse realized they were being watched. Four orcs were leering at them, wearing mixed expressions. It took him only a moment to realize why they were staring so intently. Two male blood elves, loitering in a dark alley, in close proximity of each other. Sighing, the warlock retrieved his fist and stepped back from Cindral, who spotted the orcs as well. Vyse had already prepared a verbal assault to combat whatever idiocy the orcs decided to mock them for, but his words died on his lips, as he was beat to the punch.

"Grogmal, don't think you that those elfses look like two we find in Barrens?" one orc said, turning to another.

"Uhh, d'ose two tauren makin' bebies? Oh yeah, yeah! Dey do!"

Another orc chimed in, adding, "Dat big guy he have uhhh dem scars all over maybe from girl right, right?"

The orcs shared a laugh. Vyse rolled his eyes, not even bothering to interject. Peons were dreadfully dull-witted; it wasn't worth wasting time indulging their stupidity.

"Yeah, yeah, but why he was in da' Barrens wif' girl to make bebies? He and she gonna' get mighty big sand rash!"

Again, obnoxious laughter. Vyse had just been about to shove his way past the imbeciles, but without warning, balked and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Wait..." he said to no one in particular, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "A large tauren... heavily scarred... in the middle of the Barrens..."

For a breath's span, Vyse remained perfectly still, listening intently to the sound of his blood pressure steadily rising until all he could hear was the rush of blood pounding in his ears. He let his rage run through his veins like a strong liquor, allowing himself to become intoxicated off the heady sensation. And it was a wonderful feeling.

"DAHJ!" he bellowed, startling the orcs who exchanged uneasy glances and quickly scurried off, not at all certain of what to make of this (seemingly) homosexual, shouting elf.

"Oh, this is too good to be true! Not only is that know-it-all sirloin still alive, but Taja'ki _blatantly_ defied Rai'zen's orders! This moment is so perfect, I wish I could bottle it, pour it in a washtub and bathe in it!"

A little less excitedly, Vyse added, sneering, "That jungle boar is going to pay for meddling in my affairs."

His attention shifted to Cindral, beckoning him to follow.

"Come on, Cin. By the end of this week, both Dahj's horns and Taja'ki's tusks will be adorning my mantle."

The rogue merely nodded, falling in step behind his older sibling. His brother would need his assistance in getting his revenge. Even if it were the last thing he did in this world, that would be just fine.


	7. The Homecoming, Part 1

A/N: Chapter 7 is a little long winded so I split it into two parts. Hope you enjoy!

**The Homecoming**

"Where are we going?"

Dahj pursed his lips until they were perfectly parallel, swallowing a thick wad of words one should probably not give voice to in the company of anyone with fully functional hearing.

"... Are we lost?" Kishka prodded once again, oblivious to the fact that she had asked the same question eight times and counting. "Do you even know where you're going?"

Another layer of his enamel was ground into dust as Dahj's thoughts marinated in dark, murderous brain-sauce. However, he was a man… bull… person of infinite patience. Unfortunately, this was coupled with an equally infinite surplus of sarcasm.

"Of course I know where I'm going," the annoyed bull grated, "I've been _going_ crazy for some time now, courtesy of your innate ability to construct the most annoying, asinine questions, and fire them off in rapid succession right into that last, shriveled nerve I've been hanging onto since your mouth opened and never shut. No wonder you're blue; lack of oxygen, especially to the brain."

The priestess bristled, sending him a look so deadly it could have singed him bald. Or maybe she had "accidentally" set him alight with holy wrath… from her hate-blind glare, it was hard to tell.

"You know, _Dahj_," said Kishka, "I only keep repeating myself because all you've only answered me with is a half-hearted grunt which you seem to think qualifies as a response. With your pathetic excuse for a reply, I'm really starting to find it hard to tell the difference between you and a content dairy cow."

Dahj appeared to misstep, clutching at his shirt as a pained expression suddenly surfaced.

"Oh! Kish', you wound me so!" he groaned in mock agony, slowing his pace to a painful crawl.

Kishka did her best to ignore the amused glint mocking her from those twinkling, honey hued orbs.

Noting how his gaze was actively being avoided, the tauren couldn't help but add another dig, beginning to enjoy himself now.

"Another kiss might make the hurt go away."

That, if anything, brought her attention back to Dahj, who was walking alongside the priestess.

"Or, conversely, with the right momentum, one of my hooves lodged into just the right area of your temple could also 'make the hurt go away'. Permanently. Much more effective than your temporary solution."

Based on the pallor of her cheeks and the sheer number of creases created by her frown, he gauged her anger level to be somewhere between aggravated and the-back-of-my-eyes-hurt-from-emanating-this-much-hate. This left him oddly satisfied; now, at least, he had given her a taste of her own medicine. They were both at relatively equal levels of being at each other's throats. And thus, some twisted sense of balance was restored.

"Ouch," Dahj said, wincing. "Remind me to have you declawed."

Kishka narrowed her eyes warningly.

"Okay, fine," the tauren assented with a sigh. "You can keep the claws, but that means you at least have to curl up in my lap and purr. It's only fair."

The draenei rolled her eyes, her attempts to look insulted and appalled upended by little twitches at the corners of her mouth.

"You're a pig."

Seeing her relax slightly, Dahj allowed himself a chuckle, one hand taking a quick swipe at his damp brow.

"I was a cow only a few moments before. Let's try to remain consistent with our insults, my dear. Really sloppy work; I thought you were a professional wit-spitter."

The remainder of Kishka's anger melted, and she replied, glibly, "I doubt I would have been able to put up with you for _this_ long if I wasn't."

"Ahhh… now you're just throwing salt into my wounds, my oh so forgetful dominatrix. You know, I don't recall forcing you to come with me. Seeing as you're the one dishing out the pain, I would think it would be the other way around."

The realization that Dahj was partly right was enough to cause the priestess' cheeks to warm involuntarily and leaving her gaze to wander everywhere but in the tauren's general direction.

"Fair enough. Although, I'm only doing this out of pity."

A crooked smirk broke across Dahj's face.

"You wouldn't believe how many times I've heard that. Especially from women," he said, playfully coy.

Before Kishka could decide whether to acknowledge that with a reply, the bull-man added, "Regardless, we're here."

Both of the woman's eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Here? Where?"

Rather than respond with some remark that had a fifty-fifty chance of inducing bodily harm to his person, he merely pointed ahead. The pair had been scaling the steep face of a particularly high mesa and were just now reaching the summit. As they hoofed their way up to the peak, Kishka's eyes fell upon something she would have never expected to find at such an elevated area, much less in the middle of the Barrens.

It was a house.

More like a well made shack. The wooden frame looked rough and sun beaten in some places, but overall, appeared to be sturdy, and, most importantly, a sufficient respite from the unrelenting sun. Kishka turned to Dahj questioningly, but he seemed not to notice. His eyes, normally the hue of wheat, had darkened to the color of warm amber, transfixed on something, or some_where_, the priestess could not see. As if in a daze, the tauren shook his head, his gaze finally meeting Kishka's.

"Home sweet home," he jested, a half-formed grin on his lips.

Though she would not admit it, Kishka found herself somewhat disturbed that this time, the humor of his voice and warmth of his smile did not reach his eyes. Taking long strides, Dahj made his way to the door, wasting no time in using one broad shoulder to thrust it open. Instead of entering, he turned to the woman who was watching him in a sobered silence.

"You know…" said Dahj, seeming hesitant, "I've never brought a… lady here before."

Confused, Kishka tilted her head slightly, unsure of his meaning.

_Could he possibly be embarrassed about the state of his home? _

Thinking this to be the case, Kishka waved her hand dismissingly, her face a mask of sympathy. Any sense of sympathy, however, was quickly sucked back as Dahj held the door for her, grinning like a goblin.

"Just thought I'd fill you in on that little secret. Oh well. On the bright side, we can always pretend _you're_ a lady. That way, I can salvage _some_ semblance of my masculine ego and you might be able to muster up some sex appeal if you try hard enough. Win-win, eh?"

Kishka didn't reply, sucking the back of her teeth as her temper flared. It was almost funny to Dahj to think that the first sounds echoed in that shack in years was an abruptly ended chuckle, a sharp slap and the word "pig" hissed ever so vehemently in a crude homecoming welcome. Yep… home sweet home.

* * *


	8. The Homecoming, Part 2

* * *

A/N: This chapter was longer than I thought, lol. I'll make it a three-parter. Please don't hurt me!

* * *

"It's so… small."

Kishka had meant to say something a little more flattering about the tiny, asphyxiating space Dahj called "home", but apparently commenting on it's lack of open space was all she could manage to wheeze after having her eyes, mouth and nose assaulted by an avalanche of dust.

"Or maybe you're just fat," Dahj smoothly conjectured, making an exaggerated effort to walk around her so he could enter the room fully.

The hoofed jester maneuvered himself around a small, crudely made table harboring two, wobbly stools beneath it, reaching out and pulling back burlap curtains to reveal a window, which was little more than a circular hole the wall.

He hoped this would allow the dust to gradually make its way outside instead of suffocating them to death. Either that, or he'd have to ask his helpful house guest to try and nag the dust into leaving, which, according to the lingering sting on his cheek, would not be a wise venture.

"You know," said Dahj, nudging a stool in the draenei's direction, "It's not the size of a man's house…"

Halfway to the proffered seat, Kishka winced in anticipatory dread, expecting gods knew what to seep from Dahj's volatile mouth.

"Heh, I saw that. You thought I was going to make an obscene joke. C'mon, give me _some_ credit. I've got more couth than that, fatty."

A little perturbed that the man read her like a book with obnoxiously large print, the priestess chose to ignore his jibe, distracting herself by picking out the dust imbedded in her bangs.

"Like I was saying, it's not the size of a man's house but the memories he associates with it," Dahj mused, his tone momentarily losing its bite.

Kishka's diligent preening was forgotten for a few, breathless moments as she peeked at the man from behind her veil of hair. He was hovering over what she assumed to be a washtub, straying only long enough to run a thumb along the rim before floating over to an old, iron cauldron perched above a sooty mound of coal.

"Anyway," Dahj piped up, dredging himself out of his reverie, "If you want, I could make us something to eat. I normally don't cook but—"

Here, he tossed a haphazard glance over his shoulder, winking cheekily.

"— I'd be more than happy to show you what I can do with my 'stirring rod'…"

"Okay, okay!" Kishka pinched the bridge of her nose tightly, swearing up and down she could hear cartilage cracking. "I get it… sorry I called your house small."

Settling his burly frame into the other stool that was at least two sizes too small for him, Dahj nodded appreciatively.

"Apology accepted."

He was smiling, as per usual, although not in the smug kind of way that grated Kishka's nerves like an itch beneath the skin. This smile seemed sad yet oddly charming, a bittersweet expression of whatever emotions he was experiencing. Slightly taken aback, the priestess grudgingly admitted to herself that even Dahj could have moments where she didn't have the urge to slap him senseless.

"What?" the tauren asked, an eyebrow rising ever so slightly. "Falling in love?"

Now that she thought about it, Kishka decided that rather than slapping, punching was probably the way to go.

"Never in a million years!" she growled, practically tossing herself out of her own seat as she violently whipped her gaze to the other side of the room. "I'd rather choke on my tongue and drown in my own saliva!"

"Hm, I was right." Dahj studied her profile, tugging at one of his beard braids. "No sex appeal at all. Well, it doesn't really matter, I suppose. I like my women with less… tentacles. Guess I'm just picky like that. You're lucky in that respect though; I'm sure that you'll meet Squid Charming one day. There are plenty of squids in the sea, after all; just cast a line and I bet you'll just reel 'em in."

While the heat expanding across her cheeks was almost unbearable, rather than becoming engaged in a verbal skirmish with the quirky bull, Kishka took another approach, changing the subject to something less infuriating.

"So, where's your roommate?"

In the time it took for Kishka to squelch her anger, Dahj had abandoned his stool and was now hunched over a large, wooden trunk, only mumbling a distracted "huh?" in responses to the draenei's inquiry.

"There are two cots over there."

The conversation faltered here as Dahj continued to rummage in the chest, but after the span of three breaths, he finally replied, albeit with only mild interest.

"Ah... yeah, that one's Taj's. She hardly ever used it though; she only sleeps when necessary, and only around those whom she's comfortable with."

"... is she your wife?"

With a frustrated sigh, Dahj pressed the chest's lid shut, rising and running a hand through his mane.

"Of sorts. Why, think she'll burst in while we're gripped in a lover's embrace?"

Flicking a rather large dust bunny from her robes, the priestess scoffed, "Hardly. Her bursting in on a macabre murder scene is more likely."

"I see. Then, are you jealous? 'Cause I'm definitely getting a 'jealous' vibe over here."

Kishka barely stopped herself from sputtering all across the table. "Jealous? Who would be?! If you must know, I was thinking that your wife might just be a tiny bit upset if she knew about you kissing some random woman you met out of the blue."

Collapsing back into his stool, the large tauren considered this. "Hmm... you're right, Taji would be jealous, but not for the reason you're thinking."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say that her taste in partners has always been... rather different than the norm," said Dahj, allowing himself a private snicker.

Lost in her own thoughts about the matter, Kishka merely muttered, "_That's_ an understatement…"

A lengthy period of silence followed in which all the nagging questions bubbling just below her mind's surface poured forth, overwhelming her in a typhoon of maddening curiosity. However, before she even put forth life into these thoughts, Dahj beat her to the punch.

"How did your mother die?"

Dahj's voice was only a soft rumble in his chest, barely even a few decibels above a whisper, and yet, Kishka still jolted in her seat to rigor mortis rigidness. Those were the last words she had expected Dahj, of all people, to say.

"W-what?" she stuttered numbly, wide, luminescent eyes focused on him in a whole new light.

Either Dahj didn't notice or chose to willfully ignore this as he casually interlaced his fingers at the back of his head and leaned against the wall, propping his hooves on the table.

"Course, proud, walks like a man, foolishly fearless and stubborn as a bull," Dahj droned, letting his eyelids fall shut. "Probably means you were raised by a man invested in making his daughter as self-sufficient, tough and annoying as possible.

"I'm assuming you got the nagging trait from your ovaries; I've yet to meet any person who had 'em that could suppress the ingrain need to abuse and torture a man's ear. On that note, I can bet you have an older brother too."

Kishka was in a realm somewhere beyond incredulous now. "How did you know?"

"The way you talk to me; not afraid to say what you think, do what you want in a pseudo-maternal, psychotic way, your wisecracks come naturally, never forced. All that seems to be natural to your character; like it's something you do often, bickering back and forth and lashing out when you're angry with no fear of repercussions.

"You're lucky I'm the docile type of murderer; I show you some sights, take you to my home, woo you with my witty banter and then painfully insult you to death. Less mess to clean up afterwards too, which is an added plus."

Finally recovering from her initial shock, the draenei slid her arms across her chest, feeling somewhat vulnerable and exposed, although Dahj's eyes were not on her.

"How about this," she bargained, "Since I followed you all the way here, regardless if I did so willingly, you at least owe me the courtesy of saying a little bit about yourself. Then, if I'm satisfied, I'll consider answering your question."

"You're such a tease," the tauren pouted, opening one eye to peek at her and grin. "So, what would you like to know? My birthday? First kiss? Favorite female measurements?"

"Tell me about this house," Kishka said, refusing to humor him. "And why it looks like it hasn't been lived in for years."

Dahj didn't answer right away, contemplating or gathering his thoughts, he couldn't say. After stewing in the lull for some time, he finally closed his eye once more, shifting into a more comfortable position upon his stool. When he finally spoke, the rich baritone of his voice had a detached, dream-like quality to it, as if speaking _to_ the past, rather than about it.

"Alright, Kish'. But we have to go back to where it first began before I can properly explain. Back before this house was built, before we knew what we were doing or could even fathom that we'd become the infamous duo simply known as 'Taj and Dahj'."

* * *


	9. The Homecoming, Part 3

* * *

"Now don't let my current situation fool you," began Dahj, words thickly coated in bittersweet sarcasm. "My life hasn't always been this perfect."

"I was orphaned at a young age. Can't really recall anything about my parents except that one day they left and never came back. From then on, I spent most of my adorable years wandering from village to village. No matter how huggably cute I was… no one seemed to want to take me in. Everyone had their own problems and hardships to deal with. Eventually I made my way to Orgrimmar and was placed at the orphanage there. I was the only tauren and obviously hadn't had much interaction with orcs or trolls before."

He took a deep breath here, but no words came forth, the room plummeting into an uncomfortable silence. Kishka brushed stray strands of ebony hair from her face to hide her awkwardness and to veil her regret in having asked the tauren something so personal in the first place. And then, Dahj sneezed.

"Sorry," he apologized casually. "Dust."

Kishka's teeth clamped down on her tongue, feeling foolish for being tricked into having sympathy for Dahj twice now. She was determined not to let there be a third.

"Anyway, it was very lonely, yadda' yadda'," continued Dahj, "Taja'ki came shortly after my arrival. She was loud, obnoxious, and when provoked even in the slightest, she would turn into a wild beast and attack without mercy. In short, she was like every other woman except instead of knocking a guy out with her looks, she literally knocked 'em out with her fists or whatever else she could get a hold of. Probably one of the most frightening combinations I've ever seen in my life: a girl who could fight like a guy."

The priestess could see that Dahj wasn't smiling, but the humor in his tone was unmistakable, although it seemed as if he were trying to hide this sentimentality.

"And yet… when she wasn't ripping people's throats out with her bare teeth, Taji was rather charming in a way. Always grinning like she could take on the world, saying whatever she pleased, laughing so lightheartedly, going on about her day as if only that moment mattered and she was going to live it to its fullest. She's just that kind of person. Draws people in like a magnet."

Chuckling under his breath, Dahj snorted softly, adding, "That's probably why whereas everyone at the orphanage hated me… they all loved Taji."

Sucking in a lungful of air, the tauren smirked despite himself.

"Although I wouldn't admit it to her now, I've always been jealous about that aspect of her personality; it's a bit relieving to also know that she's dumb as a rock. In the beginning, I completely ignored her. At the orphanage, I mostly spent time with myself, reading anything I could get my hands on. That's when I discovered my fascination with alchemy and chemicals. I taught myself many languages, just so I could discover the secrets locked away in the text."

Placing her elbows on the table, Kishka hunched forward slightly, openly intrigued by both the insightful details of his story and the casual approach to his storytelling.

"I didn't have any friends… But I was content. Or so I naively thought. I used to get beat up every so often by some bullies at the orphanage."

Here, Dahj shrugged nonchalantly, hiding a smirk. "Probably jealous of my winning personality and friendly demeanor."

The priestess's eyes drifted skyward and back. _Yeah, right. I barely know you and I can understand why they'd have the sudden urge to hurt you, _she thought dryly to herself.

"It was during one of these times that Taji," he continued, "who had never really paid me much mind passed by and immediately jumped in and beat the snot out of them. She was always like that though, stepping up to be the savior, the heroine. That's why so many kids looked up to her. And ya' know the first thing she says to me?

'For someone so smart, you sure get beat up a lot.'

"And, of course, with my gentlemanly charm, I replied something along the lines of, 'And for someone so ugly, you sure do talk a lot. Someone as ugly as you should just die now; save yourself the shame and save me the trouble of scrubbing my eyes with sandpaper to try and salvage what's left of my vision.'

He couldn't help but smile at this, completely unaware of Kishka's disapproving head shake.

"I had fully expected her to mess me up so bad that _I_ wouldn't recognize me… but instead, she merely laughed and walked away. After that, she would approach me sometimes while I was reading, asking questions about what was in the books and such. She also kept the bullies from picking on me, though I never asked nor thanked her."

"I wasn't very nice to her in the beginning," he mused, reflectively, "but she kept laughing and kept coming back until it was just so natural I couldn't remember it being any different.

"One day, she asked me to teach her to read. After thinking a bit, I agreed, only if she agreed to teach me how to fight. And when we were finally old enough to leave the orphanage, we left together. We had nothing of our own, no money, no place to call home… yet that was okay. We had each other. Having that was better than nothing. We worked odd jobs around the city; nothing glamorous and we even did some things we weren't proud of just for a bite to eat or a warm bed for the night. But we managed to save up enough money to get the supplies to build this house."

For the first time since he began his story, Dahj opened his eyes, peering down his snout at Kishka.

"It may be small… but it was the first real home Taji and I had since the orphanage. And we made it with our own hard work, something that we could proudly say that we earned. Even though neither of us has been here for some time, this house means a lot to her and I. Probably more than either of us would willingly admit."

Stretching loudly with a muffled yawn, Dahj noted how the draenei was hanging onto his every word, practically leaning across the table in her blatant display of interest.

"Satisfied?" Dahj asked, teasingly.

Startled but still gripped with insatiable curiosity, Kishka shook her head, somewhat upset that he would cut his story short just when it was getting good.

"Not yet. Continue on."

Dahj snickered, much to Kishka's annoyance. "Fascinating, aren't I?"

"Hardly. There's nothing else to do to pass the time."

"You're a horrible liar. I bet while I was telling my story, you were thinking that you could probably fall for a suave guy like me, eh?"

This prompted a frown from the draenei. "Are you even vaguely aware how infuriating you are?"

Whereas Kishka had expected another glib comment, a pleasant smiled softened his featured and he replied, good-naturedly, "I have some idea. Makes for a nice defense though."

The priestess blinked. "Defense against what?"

But by then, Dahj had already gotten comfortable again, paying no mind to the woman's inquiry and starting his story where he had left off.

"Taji and I would always visit the orphanage in our free time. They were, after all, the only family we knew. One night as we were walking back home from the orphanage, we saw something we shouldn't have seen. Some guys selling something they shouldn't. They advanced on us, but Taji was not about to let us both die a senseless death in some darkened alleyway. She might have killed them had I not been there to stop her.

"Curious as always, I took a quick look at the stuff the guy was trying to sell. Later, I found out it was some kind of drug, but I didn't know at the time. I made some crude comment about a blind, one handed gnome could have mixed the stuff better and we left. We thought that was the end of it. Of course they found out where we worked, where our likely hangouts were and waited for us. However, it wasn't for revenge. It was a job offer. After assessing us, they thought they could use Taji's fighting skills and my intelligence."

Dahj paused here, stealing a glance at Kishka with a hooded gaze. Her face was uncharacteristically neutral, and she didn't say a word. He had half expected her to say something in indignant rage, to go off on some saccharin-heavy, moral soapbox speech until he gagged on his own conscience… yet she remained silent, so he continued on.

"Taji and I had been barely scraping by a living, and so together, we decided to take the job. We did small stuff at first, but as our jobs became more and more involved, we started to make a name for ourselves. I began talking with the guys who made the drugs and worked with them to make a better, more effective product and Taji made sure to keep other drug gangs in their place. Taj and Dahj was soon a common phrase on the streets for addicts and dealers alike.

"Eventually, our fame reached the drug lord, Rai'zen. We both knew his name well; tales of his ruthless business practices and his sick fascination with the pain and suffering of others was well known. When we went before him, he said that he saw our potential and decided we needed teachers.

"He set Taji up with a Forsaken priest named Korot so that she could better learn the trade and it's intricacies from a vet and so he could harness her natural charm and aggression effectively. I was sent to work under a goblin named Flask, who taught me more about alchemy than I ever thought possible. And when I had learned all I could, I began making drugs for Rai'zen."

Dahj's voice grew softer, so much so that Kishka began to wonder if he was telling the story for her sake, or his.

"However, after awhile… I began to have issues with my conscience. And I tried to run. You saw the results. As I had expected, Taji was the one Rai'zen assigned to kill me. He knew that my death would be that much more agonizing if it were Taji who did the deed."

Kishka nearly took a dive to the ground as the tauren suddenly let out a bark of laughter, harsh and short lived.

"But… she didn't kill me," he murmured, almost disbelieving. "Taji is just so many kinds of dumb, I can't even begin to start listing them off. Such a pain… protecting me, as always, even at her own expense."

"So… you _wanted_ her to kill you?" asked Kishka, speaking up after her long silence.

With a weary grunt, Dahj forced himself upright, resting his elbows on the table and drawing the draenei's gaze to his. Kishka had been attempting to avoid his eyes, unsure of what to think of him now, but found herself unable to keep from being pulled in by the melancholic shadow hidden in his smile.

"Perhaps," he confessed, half-smirking. "I can't deny that it would have been easier for the both of us if she had."

Kishka didn't like his tone, how his words seemed to bypass her altogether and redirect themselves back to Dahj as an airborne poison that he siphoned gladly. Feeling a lump of disgust and pity meshed together in her throat at the tauren's subtle self-pitying display, Kishka stood, planting her hands firmly on the table.

"You're pathetic," said Kishka, admitting to herself that this sudden onset of anger was irrational, but couldn't convince herself to be concerned about such frivolous things like 'having a reason' at the moment.

"You know, your confession of love leaves something to be desired," Dahj taunted, flashing the draenei a Cheshire grin from across the table.

"If I had known that you wanted to die so badly, I would have just left you for the scavengers where I found you," Kishka seethed, infuriated at Dahj for brushing the subject aside with a pathetic attempt at a joke. "I feel like a fool now. If you're sorry for the things you've done in your past, you should know that dying is the coward's way out. You've put your wicked ways behind you… isn't that enough?"

Dahj considered this… for about three seconds.

"You're surprisingly uncute when you're angry. It wouldn't hurt if you at least pretended to have some feminine sensuality. I'm finding it a tad difficult to pay you any attention; normally its _pretty_ women who yell at me for no reason. I usually don't mind 'cause making up after the argument is the best part… but the longer you continue to screech at me, the more I begin to suspect that this will not end with us both extremely satisfied and asleep."

Not to be deterred, the priestess spat, "Do you always have to reply with a humorless joke? Why can't you answer a straight question?"

"Okay, fair enough," Dahj admitted with a grudging nod. "I can't answer a straight question and you haven't realized that I've been staring down your robes since you stood up. We both have faults. Some big, and some really, really, _really_ small…"

Unable to control the red heat enflaming her cheeks, Kishka removed her hands from the table and hastily stood up straight as physically possible, more embarrassed than mad.

"Don't worry your tentacled head over it, I didn't see anything," Dahj assured, although thoroughly amused at her reaction. "I'd need to get a little closer and squint a lot harder for that. Just sit down. If we're going to continue pretending that we like each other while we wait, you might as well do it comfortably."

Reluctantly, the priestess did as suggested, but not before asking, "What do you mean? Why are we waiting?"

"Well, because Taji might really kill me this time if she came all the way out here and I had already left."

Kishka gave the tauren an odd look. "How do you know she's coming here?"

Dahj returned the look with a sly grin, shrugging noncommittally at the question. "Because she's Taji. She probably has a few loose ends to tie up, but she'll be here. No matter what the situation, she just has to play the heroine and rushes to save the day. The only downside to that is she's entirely too stupid to know when it's beneficial to save her friends and when it's better to save herself. Sometimes her loyalty acts more against her than for her. You'll see what I mean when she gets here."

"I can hardly wait," Kishka sighed, mentally exhausted. She made the mistake of letting silence creep in on the two of them, giving Dahj the wordless prod to say something to break the stillness.

"So… wanna' kiss and make up now?"

"No," the woman flatly replied. "You know, a few hours in your company is more than enough to make any woman completely turned off of men."

This stone cold statement received the opposite reaction than anticipated as Dahj flooded the room with boisterous laughter.

"I wouldn't say that around Taji if I were you," he managed to gasp, attempting to refill his lungs with air.

"What?"

"Nothing. You and Taji are going to get along better than you know."


	10. The Friend

**The Friend**

One could say a lot of things about Booty Bay. It was no secret that the port town harbored an unsavory amount of sex, drugs and corruption which spread and infected all who inhabited like a bad case of the snatch scratchers. However, there was one thing, one saving grace, which preceded Booty Bay's reputation despite all its infamy: the booze was good, cheap and plentiful. And Korot knew this well.

Even though he had wandered into a tavern he had never visited before, a twinge of nostalgia briefly warmed the ichor in his veins. The bar was his home; the stool, his throne.

"What's ya' poison?" the goblin barkeep asked as Korot approached, greedy eyes narrowing in on the priest as if he were nothing but a walking coin dispenser.

"Strongest drink in the house," Korot gruffly greeted, leaning his staff against the bar and settling into a seat. The goblin gave a fraction of a nod and then disappeared. Moments later he returned, setting a mug before the forsaken.

"Careful with that," the barkeep warned, drolly, "that stuff could kill the dead."

Taking note of the near tangible hatred emanating from the scowling priest, the goblin remembered he had some mindless, repetitive task to do on the other side of the tavern and scurried away.

Satisfied with the barkeep's retreat, Korot finally turned his attention to his 'poison', as the goblin had so eloquently put it. Indeed, looking at the foaming concoction bubbling over the rim of his mug with a skeptical frown, he did begin to question the toxicity of the drink.

However, Korot decided to swallow back any lingering doubts and boldly brought the mug to his colorless lips. To him, it was tasteless, without odor, and, since he no longer felt those once frequent pangs of thirst, it failed at its primary purpose for consumption. Despite this, Korot drained the mug as if it were some sort of miracle elixir; like some sort of medicine that would cure him of that excruciating, incurable disease called reality.

As was to be expected, the results left much to be desired.

This never deterred Korot, as he merely ordered another mug. At least he was able to validate his existence in the faint sensation of warmth from the liquor. It was one of the few things he could still actually feel. The feeling was distant, weak; as if his whole being was entirely numb. But he could feel a limited range of emotions. He could feel pain.

And he could feel warmth. Most importantly, Evamarín's warmth. If Korot was thankful for anything in his woebegone unlife, it was being able to still experience the warmth of another mortal being. Thinking back to what had transpired between the two only half an hour before, the man reached for his mug, which had recently been refilled.

Yes, on the outside Evamarín was warm, like an intoxicating wine… yet on the inside, she was colder than Northrend frost.

"Woman troubles?"

Korot jolted from his private musings, startled by the sudden inquiry. The voice seemed to originate from his right, where a human had seated himself without the forsaken noticing. A wave of revulsion struck Korot almost immediately, and, after a moment of studying the man, he discovered why. The human practically grinning in his face, sitting mere inches away, was undoubtedly, undeniably, unquestionably a paladin.

Korot glanced around. There was no one else nearby who the paladin could possibly be talking to. After taking a moment to formulate an intelligent response, Korot's jaw dropped and a mangled, incredulous, "What?" tumbled out in Common.

"Well," the man explained, matter-of-factly, "You were sittin' there inna' daze like a man whose got some lady trouble. I was jes' tryin' to strike up a bit o' polite convo'sation."

Sneering, Korot's surprise was quickly squelched by an instant flaring of burning hatred so volatile he could not keep it contained even if he had a desire to.

"So you must be from the Archbishop's most recent batch of flunkies," the forsaken quipped, not in the mood to be trifled with. "Well, in that case, I'll try to dumb this down as much as possible. If you want to mock someone, for your sake, I suggest you find a mindless ghoul because any undead with at least half a mind and time to spare will not hesitate to shove your holier-than-thou Light bullshit so far up your conceited ass you'll be shitting candlesticks from then on."

Korot felt his features split into a wicked grin, satisfied with the deadpan expression frozen on the human's face. However, instead of the accustomed challenge to a duel to defend his offended honor… the man simply laughed. A loud, boisterous laugh which caused him to even going as far as to hold his sides in mirth.

Again, this strange man startled Korot. He tensed, as if expecting a sudden blow. But none came.

"Shit candlesticks! Honestly, I've been known tah receive an insult 'er two but I ain't never heard that 'un before. That's a good 'un!"

It was about then that Korot began to question the man's sanity. "Are you a new breed of stupid?" he asked, genuinely puzzled by the paladin's behavior. "What the fel is wrong with you?"

Rather than reply immediately, the paladin caught the barkeep's attention and ordered the "cheapest dwarven ale" before turning once more to Korot. "I jes' thought I'd like some good comp'ny while I drink. Seems I picked well, eh?"

Now, it was true that for an undead, Korot was remarkable well preserved. He took special care to avoid physical violence to keep his skin intact and even had Dahj concoct potions for him specifically to impede the decaying process. Besides the deathly pallor of his complexion, only the haunting glow of his eyes alluded to his state of undeath. Yet, he could never be accidentally mistaken as human, which made the paladin's statement even more perplexing.

This could lead to only one logical conclusion: The bastard was drunker than a horny dwarf at Brewfest.

"No matter how cheap or watered down, a good Dwarven ale can still knock your senses to Northrend and back… especially if you've already had a few. That said, it would be in your best interest to direct your drunken antics towards someone less likely break your leg and rip the marrow clean off your bones like you were an all you can eat crawler dinner."

With a misty mug now set before him, the paladin chuckled under his breath, drawing his beer close to take a careful, trial sip.

"I ain't drunk, dead 'un. Well, not yet, in any case."

Korot's grip tightened around his glass. "Then it still begs the question, why are you talking to me?"

For the briefest, minutest of minutes, the human's incorrigible behavior reminded him of Taja'ki. Somehow, he had the same feeling that everything he said was merely going in one ear and coming straight out the other.

"Well," replied the paladin, "ya' ain't done me no wrong so I ain't got nothin' against ya'."

The forsaken gave an odd sort of half-snort, half-grunt. "And that hardly constitutes as a logical reason for trying to engage me in conversation. When did you tight-leashed, paladin dogs begin to disobey the attack command and decide to foolishly bark just for the sake of barking?"

Rubbing the back of his neck methodically, the human answered in his easygoing drawl, "The way I see it, you were once human, jes like me. You were someone's brother, son, 'er husband, even. Ya' can't help that ya' died an' were brought back. Wasn't like ya' asked that Lich bastard tah make ya' undead. So long as ya' ain't doin' anything ya' ought not right now, then I don't see any harm in exchanin' civilities wit' ya' dead'uns."

Korot's jaw descended to speak, but was quickly snatched back shut without a word. Up until that point, all his responses had merely been automatic; it was at this moment that his mind broke free from autopilot and began running manually at his command.

_How long has it truly been since I've had a normal conversation with a human? Evamarín has never been one to humor me with an actual conversation_... the priest contemplated to himself. _Truthfully… aside from Evamarín, no human has ever made an attempt to try and talk to me, which is understandable, but_...

Although it felt odd to be speaking in Common to anyone other than Evamarín, some part of Korot tentatively admitted that it not only felt somewhat pleasant but rather natural. Had it been anyone else, the cantankerous priest would have tossed a few insults in Gutterspeak the paladin's way and ignored him.

However, from the get-go, the human had already drawn him into conversation without him even realizing it. Korot shook his head at his own gullibility, having lost to this man even before he had spoken one word.

"Alright then," Korot rasped, looking at the paladin in a whole new light this time. "So let's say that all you've said is true and fel, let's go as far as to say that we're even having an honest conversation right now. If that is the case, then how did you know that I'm having 'woman problems'?"

The paladin gave a wink from behind his mug. "Easy 'nough. Ya' jes' look like ya' had the life sucked from ya'."

At this, he laughed at his own horrible joke, nearly choking on his beer. "Figuratively, I mean."

With a faint nod of agreement, Korot added, "Aside from the Plague, I doubt that there is anything that can suck the life right outta' a man like a woman."

This prompted the paladin to laugh boisterously, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in mirth. "Cheers tah that!"

He lifted his mug and held it out towards Korot, an amiable grin stretched wide across his face. Hesitantly, the forsaken lifted his own mug and slowly tipped his mug until it clinked against the other.

Both men then drank deep, Korot downing his without need to pause for breath.

"Sometimes I envy warlocks," the paladin continued, wiping the foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand. "They need a warm body for their bed? She's just a summon away. Tired of listenin' tah her naggin'? Send her tah tha' Nether an' beyond with but a word. Despite bein' tha' mighty paladin that I am, even I'm hopelessly wrapped aroun' tha' delicate finger of a doll-faced she-demon."

The human sighed, then slammed his fist on the bar repeatedly, indicating to the barkeep that he wanted a refill.

"Oh, I forgot! I ain't intra'duce mahself yet. Name's Garrick."

Looking at the beer in his hand, he decided to part with it momentarily and extended his now empty hand towards the priest.

For a long, awkward moment, Korot merely stared at the man's proffered hand like it was the strangest object he had ever seen and didn't quite know what to do with it. Finally, he managed to mechanically extend his own hand, mumbling, "Korot."

"Wait! Gah, where is yah mind tahday, Garrick?" said the paladin, retracting his hand. He sifted through the pack at his feet, retrieving a pair of dark leather gloves. Shoving his hands inside, he once again turned to the Forsaken.

"My apologies. I wouldn't want tah purge the unlivin' daylights outta' yah jes 'cause I used mah bare hands."

A little more tentatively, Korot stretched out his arm and gripped Garrick's hand. The contact was brief, but it sent an unpleasant tingle along the length of his arm, instantly seized by an unsettling nausea.

"Nice tah make yer acquaintance, Korot," Garrick beamed, both at the Forsaken and the overflowing mug that had just been set before him.

The priest retracted his hand slowly, noting that his skeletal fingertips were slightly blackened. Even through the thick leather, Garrick's holy aura had sought to cleanse him to naught but consecrated ashes. The paladin's Light straining to devour his Shadow. If Garrick was aware of this, he made no indication, a dopey grin playing on his lips as the lower half of his face disappeared into his mug.

"Theramore."

One of Garrick's thick brows quirked quizzically. His mug clattered to the table as he let out a contented sigh and tilted his head in Korot's direction, oblivious to the froth still hanging onto his upper lip.

"Your accent. You're from Theramore, correct?" Korot continued, though his question carried the weight of a self-assured statement.

"Well ya' sure ain't lyin'!" the paladin affirmed, thumping his chest proudly with one hand. "T'was born in Goldshire, but mah heart resides in Theramore."

Korot made no remark to this, taking a slow, methodical sip from his cup. Never being one to give much care to faces or appearance, the priest examined the human from the edge of his peripheral vision. He had a shock of tousled, sandy blond hair, slightly damp, from either the humid, salty sea air or from being confined for far too long in a stifling helm. Unkempt stubble dappled his sun bronzed chin, his sleepy, laughing, hazel eyes charmingly magnetic. By appearance alone, he seemed to be fairly young, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, but his youthful exuberance made pinpointing his exact age rather difficult.

_He looks to be about my age though_, mused Korot. _The age I was when I died_…

All private thoughts scattered like dominoes as a strong hand suddenly gripped his shoulder.

"'Ey ya' maggot-suckin', dirt-humpin', coffin stuffer! Why doncha' take yer ugly face and bury it somewhere's I ain't gotta' look at it?"

Two undeniably inebriated human males hovered over Korot, glaring hatred down on the priest with glassy, bloodshot eyes.

"I probably would take you up on your suggestion if I had a face as hideous as yours," the Forsaken muttered in Gutterspeak, violently shrugging the hand off his shoulder. He kept his gaze low and away; to acknowledge them anymore would be an insult to anyone's intelligence.

"If ya' got somethin' tah say tah me, buzzard-scraps, den shay it 'n Common!" one of the men slurred, flecks of spittle spraying across Korot's back.

Garrick, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, turned in his seat and leaned back, peering out a nearby window. He spotted two horses tied to a hitching post outside. Sitting properly once more, the paladin scanned the tavern. There were no other human patrons in sight.

Suppressing an impish grin, Garrick cleared his throat, saying, "Them your two horses out thar, gents?"

With a hand hidden under the table, he snapped his fingers, igniting the horse's reins with holy fire. Spooked, the horses reared and bucked until they were able to break free and took off down the dock. Stumbling and scrambling over each other, the two men raced out of the tavern in pursuit of their mounts.

"I could have easily handled that," stated Korot, although his lips split into a tiny smile. "Though your assistance was appreciated."

Garrick scratched at the back of his neck, replying, "Couldn't help mahself thar, Korot. Can't stand mah own kind actin' like a bunch a' no good hoodlums."

This said, Garrick loudly sucked down the last remains of his beer, then stretched his arms over his head, joints popping audibly.

"Welp, it's about time fah me to head out," Garrick yawned, lifting his pack and helm from the floor. "Mah lady might work 'erself intah a tizzy if I'm gone fah too long which would mean big trouble fah everyone. Best I leave now so's I don't become tha' cause of the second Sunderin'."

Tucking his helm underneath his arm, he gave the Forsaken a sloppy salute.

"Thanks fah keepin' me company. See ya' 'round, friend."

And, with one last, dopey smile at Korot, he turned, whistling obnoxiously loud, and strolled out of the tavern. Korot did not watch Garrick depart, choosing to stare questioningly into his mug.

"… friend?"

He snorted, as if insulted, but the chuckle he had been attempting to suppress rumbled deep in his throat, exposing his amusement.

_That's a new one_, he thought to himself, wondering if Garrick was at all aware that he had tossed the word into his farewell so casually. _He's got some nerve_…

Korot's gaze drifted to his singed fingers, shaking his head in bemusement.

_Mortals. They're an interesting lot. Can't live with 'em… and can't feel alive without 'em. _

Chuckling once more, Korot raised his mug into the air, as if in a toast, gave a small, indiscernible nod, and finished off his beer, not even bothering to wipe away the froth comically arced above his upper lip.


	11. The Mark

**The Mark**

Careful footsteps, nigh silent in their lack of footwear, kicked clods of dust into the enveloping Ogrimmar heat. It was an easy, languid gait, unrushed, as if time did not matter. A lanky, measured stride that belied a smug yet unassertive confidence. Nali permitted herself a half-formed smile, entirely focused on the footsteps approaching the house.

Slowly, the doorknob turned and the door was gently nudged open. The pungent aroma of booze, a menagerie of stale perfumes and sun-warmed skin came in a gust past Nali. She inhaled deeply, both repulsed and enamored with the scent. She sniffed again, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. There was another smell. This one faintly sweet and earthy.

"Guess de' flowa' Taji brought fah joo," Taja'ki greeted, stepping through the door and shutting it behind her.

"Mageroyal," replied Nali, confidently, smirking cheekily. "And you also have Peacebloom on you somewhere."

"An' 'ere joo go," Taji grinned, holding out the mageroyal bouquet to the younger troll. "Joo win da' prize."

Nali reached out, brushing her fingertips across the crimson petals before trailing them downward and grasping the stems. She glided across the room, rummaging through a cupboard and withdrawing an earthenware vase.

"You know, Taji, these flowers don't mask the smell of tavern wenches and liquor. It's like you bathed in a tub of perfumed whores and alcohol," said Nali, evenly, with her back to Taja'ki.

Taja'ki chuckled, unable to deny such a frank accusation. "Ah, Taji c'in nevah fool Nali's nose."

Nali did not respond, rather, busied herself with arranging the flowers in the vase. The muffled protest of constricting leather coming nearer caused Nali's heart to flutter wildly like a wounded bird, but her lips remained pursed in a displeased frown. Taja'ki paused behind the shorter trolless to tug at her ponytail playfully.

"What c'in Taji do? De' wimmen love Taji."

Nali batted the teasing hand away, muttering testily, "And therein lies the problem. The 'wimmen' love Taji… but who does Taji love?"

Taja'ki, never one to mull over or give hardly anything much thought, grabbed a handful of her own braids, squeezed tightly, then released them with an indifferent shrug.

"Taji loves ev'rybody."

Nali withheld a sigh, internalizing her frustration. She knew that she would not be able persuade the warrior to answer the question properly. Taja'ki was a chronic question dodger.

"So where's Dahj?" asked Nali, reluctantly changing subjects. "Haven't seen him all day."

"Dat worthless man? 'im be out runnin' a few errands but Dahj'll be back soon enough."

A stint of oppressive silence inundated the room.

"What kind of errands?" Nali inquired, finally turning towards Taja'ki.

The elder of the two shrugged and replied, offhandedly, "Taji no'ra be sure. Taji canna' not baby-sit Dahj ev'ryday. Taji needed some Taji time today."

Nali's lips stiffened into a tight, straight line. She maneuvered her way to the other troll, stopping half a step from Taja'ki. "Taji, I can tell when you're lying. I can hear it in your voice."

At first, Taja'ki attempted to avert her eyes, but, like a guilty child, resigned herself to gaze back at the strips of violet cloth covering Nali's eyes in an 'X' shape across her face. She choked down a tangled mass of guilt, forcing it deep into the pit of her stomach.

"Taji jus' canna' not pull one ova' on Nali," the warrior chuckled, amused at Nali's perceptiveness and her own pathetic attempt at lying. "Alrigh' den. Da truth be dat Dahj be safe an' Taji will go get 'im lata'."

The blind she-troll reached out and clasped Taja'ki's arm.

"You know that's not a good enough explanation. I want to know what happened."

Taja'ki grunted in reply, but said no more, as if dismissing the topic. Nali's grip tightened around Taj's arm as she said, clearly pained, "I just want to know what's going on. I wish… I wish you didn't always feel the need to protect me from everything. When you do that, it's like you build a wall between us and all that I know is what I can make out from peeking through the cracks."

Rolling her eyes skyward, Taja'ki shut them, briefly, taking a rare moment to let her words lay idle on her tongue before spouting them out. "Fine. Dahj got 'imself into a bit 'a trouble. 'im tried to quit working fah Rai'zen, so Rai'zen told Taji to kill 'im."

Nali inhaled once, deeply, taking Taja'ki's words in as calmly as she could muster.

"Well? What did you do?"

Taja'ki couldn't resist the tug of a small smile. "Taji decked 'im an' lef' 'im in da' midda' 'a da' Barrens, ja!"

"You did what?! Why?!"

Though Nali could not see it, she could _hear_ Taja'ki's roguish grin break out across her face.

"'im deserved it. Dahj was provokin' Taji de entiyah way, prolly hopin' Taji would really do 'im in tah save 'erself. But, as worthless as Dahj be, Taji no'ra kill 'im. When Taji kill Dahj one day, it no'ra will be by anybody's ordahs. Taji'll do it jes' 'cause Taji feel like it."

This said, Taja'ki gently slide her arm out of Nali's grip and maneuvered her way to a large, wooden chair cushioned with firm, but soft pillows. With a weary sigh, the troll collapsed into the chair, letting her muscles slowly uncoil and relax.

"So where's Dahj now?" Nali asked, shuffling towards Taji's chair.

"'im prolly be at 'im an Taji's house out dere in da Barrens. Da one we built when we left de orphanage."

Closing her eyes, Taji placed both hands comfortably behind her head. "Taji needs to tie up some loose ends 'ere, den she go an' fetch Dahj. 'im should be alrigh' until den."

Nali seated herself on the arm of the chair, inquiring, quietly, "And what about me?"

"Taji got Korot to look after joo while Taji an' Dahj hide out fah 'a bit. 'im should be 'ere to get joo befah da' sun come up."

After that, Taji said no more. Nali sat silently, her mind swimming in emotions that threatened to spill over and drown her. But she said nothing, having already troubled Taji enough and guilted her into talking against her better judgment. For an indeterminate amount of time, Nali merely listened to Taja'ki's shallow breathing, lulled by the sound.

It was always a rare occurrence to be in Taja'ki's presence while she was asleep. The troll warrior hardly slept for more than three or four hours and never around people, save for Dahj and Nali. Sleep was the only time when Taji allowed herself to be vulnerable and off her guard. Secretly, Nali loved this Taja'ki; the one only she and one other were privileged enough to see.

Nali lightly brushed her fingertips over the contours of Taji's face, wishing to engrave the feeling and memory of it in her mind's eye. Carefully, Nali slipped into the chair, straddling Taji. She could feel the warrior's muscles tense, but quickly relax, though Taji did not seem to wake.

"I love you, Taja'ki," she whispered, breath tickling the other's ear.

"Taji loves joo too," came the mumbled, drowsy reply as Taja'ki surfaced into consciousness.

"Don't. Don't say that if you don't mean it."

Nali tried to mask her hurt with anger to numb the pain threatening to crush her heart.

"Taji do mean it. Taji always does," the trolless replied encouragingly, arms snaking around and hugging Nali at the waist.

"No, you don't mean it," Nali lamented, despite resigning herself to Taj's embrace. "Not like I do."

Choosing not to reply, Taja'ki merely pulled the smaller troll close, castling her in her arms. However, Nali, not to be deterred, continued, adding, "Taja'ki, you know I've loved you ever since we first met at the orphanage. And when you and Dahj came back to the orphanage to get me and offered to look after me, I vowed that I would do anything for you. Even if it meant giving my life for yours."

Taja'ki squeezed the young troll tighter, trying to make it harder for her to breathe, and thus, less likely to continue speaking. "Hush dere now, Nali. Donna' be talkin' about tings like dat. S'bad voodoo."

"But it's true!" Nali protested, resolved not to be brushed off so lightly. "I would die for you! That day those thugs came here looking for you, I knew that they would most likely kill me when I said that I was you. But they only took my eyes by the time you showed up. And I've never regretted what I did or becoming blind. I've never blamed you. And I never will."

Nali's grip on Taja'ki's shoulders tightened. "The only thing I regret is no longer being able to see your face."

Taja'ki was silent, but Nali didn't need to hear words or see a face to know that the warrior was writhing in mental anguish. Nali knew she had gone too far. She was well aware that it pained Taja'ki to be reminded of the day that she had come home to Nali screaming, weeping streams of bloody tears as thugs from a rival drug syndicate stood over her and laughed.

It had taken months to remove all visible signs of blood splatters and entrails from the room. Even to that day, every now and again Taji or Dahj would find evidence of Taja'ki's unmerciful wrath.

"Sorry," Nali mumbled, resting her head on Taja'ki's shoulder.

"It be fine. Let Taji sleep now, ja? It won't be long befah Taji has tah go an' fetch dat worthless man."

Sinking deeper into the chair, Taja'ki relaxed her arms around Nali, letting one arm drop and holding her loosely with the other.

"Taji?" Nali whispered into Taja'ki's shoulder. "Promise me… that you won't mess around with other women anymore."

There was no hesitation in the reply. "Taji promises."

This time, Nali did not point out that Taja'ki was lying. No matter how many times she made Taji promise, she always returned home wearing someone else's scent. No matter how many times she professed her love to Taja'ki, she would never give her heart solely to Nali. Without any warning or indication, Nali suddenly hooked her arm around Taji's neck for leverage and sank her teeth into Taja'ki's shoulder.

She felt Taji flinch in surprise, but the warrior made no other movement nor did she say a word. Instead, she remained stock still as Nali's teeth pierced deeper into her flesh, the tip of her tusks burrowing into either side. Finally, when her teeth could puncture no further, Nali slowly extracted herself from Taji's shoulder.

Tenderly, she lapped up the blood that began to sluice down Taji's arm, savoring the bitter red wine pooling in her mouth. When the flow of blood stemmed and clotted, Nali licked the bruised and punctured skin, explaining, headily, "Now everyone will know you belong to me."

She knew it was childishly selfish to mark Taja'ki thusly against her will, but somehow the bleeding, marred flesh which mimicked the scars on her own heart eased some of the addictive torture of her unrequited love. The mark, a lovebite, was an old Trollish custom in which a couple would mark one another to stave off potential suitors and to claim them as their monogamous lover.

It was an expression of love and possession, of enduring pain and affection. Nali knew well that Taji, who followed old customs with unwavering devotion, would not give her a lovebite in return. But, for now, it was enough just to know that she had left her mark on Taja'ki. It was enough to know that, at least in appearance only, Taja'ki was hers.

"Don't let this mark heal for awhile, okay, Taji?" beseeched Nali, rising off of the other woman and snuggling into the chair beside her. "Be only mine… even if it's just for a little while."

However, there was no reply from the other troll. The steady rise and fall of Taja'ki's chest told Nali that she had lapsed back into a shallow slumber. Nestling in close to Taja'ki, Nali smiled, bitterly sweet, and drifted into a dreamless sleep, the taste of blood and love still lingering on her tongue.

* * *

When Taji awoke, it was almost morning. Slowly, she slipped out of the chair, trying not to wake Nali. The young troll sighed and stirred in the seat, but did not wake. Taja'ki, borrowing a solemn mask she could only affix awkwardly to her face, leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Nali's forehead. Gingerly, she fingered the still tender bite on her shoulder, saying, uncharacteristically somber, "Taji loves joo, Nali. An' dis time, Taji means it."

Eyes lingering on Nali's sleeping form a minute longer, Taja'ki grabbed her knapsack, stuffed it full of some food from the kitchen, and then left Nali slumbering soundly in the protective cushioning of the chair. As she put distance between herself and the house, she could have sworn she heard the word "liar" accusing her on an evanescent breeze, but when she turned back to look, all she could see was the mark on her shoulder and nothing more.


End file.
